VARIETIES.
O Nanny, wilt thou gang wi’ me?
Sometime ago, inThe Girl’s Own Paper, there appeared an interesting sketch of the “Reliques of Ancient English Poetry,†with some facts of the life of Bishop Percy. In the account given, no mention is made of the once popular ballad, “O Nanny, wilt thou gang wi’ me?†or the event that gave rise to its production. The circumstances, however, were of such an unusual character, that they will certainly bear telling once more.
It was in 1771, about six years after the publication of the “Reliques,†and at the very height of Percy’s literary fame, that Mrs. Percy was summoned to the Court of George III. and appointed nurse to the infant Prince Edward, afterwards Duke of Kent, and ultimately the father of our present good and most gracious sovereign Queen Victoria. Mrs. Percy is said to have been a very amiable and excellent woman. Miss M. L. Hawkins, in writing of the occurrence, says: “His Royal Highness Prince Edward’s temper, as a private gentleman, did not discredit his nurse, for his humanity was conspicuous.â€
It was when Mrs. Percy had fulfilled the duties of her high position as personal attendant to the young prince, and on her return to the quiet Northamptonshire vicarage of Easton Mandit, that Dr. Percy greeted his long absent wife with the following verses:—
“O Nanny, wilt thou gang with me,Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?Can silent glens have charms for thee,The lowly cot, and russet gown?No longer dressed in silken sheen,No longer decked with jewels rare;Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?“O Nanny, when thou’rt far away,Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?Say, canst thou face the parching ray,Nor shrink before the wintry wind?Oh, can that soft and gentle mienExtremes of hardship learn to bear,Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?“O Nanny, canst thou love so true,Through perils keen with me to go?Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue,To share with him the pang of woe?Say, should disease or pain befall,Wilt thou assume the nurse’s care,Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recallWhere thou wert fairest of the fair?“And when at last thy love shall die,Wilt thou receive his parting breath?Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,And cheer with smiles the bed of death?And wilt thou o’er his breathless clayStrew flowers and drop the tender tear,Nor then regret those scenes so gay,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?â€
“O Nanny, wilt thou gang with me,Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?Can silent glens have charms for thee,The lowly cot, and russet gown?No longer dressed in silken sheen,No longer decked with jewels rare;Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?“O Nanny, when thou’rt far away,Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?Say, canst thou face the parching ray,Nor shrink before the wintry wind?Oh, can that soft and gentle mienExtremes of hardship learn to bear,Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?“O Nanny, canst thou love so true,Through perils keen with me to go?Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue,To share with him the pang of woe?Say, should disease or pain befall,Wilt thou assume the nurse’s care,Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recallWhere thou wert fairest of the fair?“And when at last thy love shall die,Wilt thou receive his parting breath?Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,And cheer with smiles the bed of death?And wilt thou o’er his breathless clayStrew flowers and drop the tender tear,Nor then regret those scenes so gay,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?â€
“O Nanny, wilt thou gang with me,Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?Can silent glens have charms for thee,The lowly cot, and russet gown?No longer dressed in silken sheen,No longer decked with jewels rare;Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
“O Nanny, wilt thou gang with me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot, and russet gown?
No longer dressed in silken sheen,
No longer decked with jewels rare;
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
“O Nanny, when thou’rt far away,Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?Say, canst thou face the parching ray,Nor shrink before the wintry wind?Oh, can that soft and gentle mienExtremes of hardship learn to bear,Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
“O Nanny, when thou’rt far away,
Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
Oh, can that soft and gentle mien
Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
“O Nanny, canst thou love so true,Through perils keen with me to go?Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue,To share with him the pang of woe?Say, should disease or pain befall,Wilt thou assume the nurse’s care,Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recallWhere thou wert fairest of the fair?
“O Nanny, canst thou love so true,
Through perils keen with me to go?
Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue,
To share with him the pang of woe?
Say, should disease or pain befall,
Wilt thou assume the nurse’s care,
Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recall
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
“And when at last thy love shall die,Wilt thou receive his parting breath?Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,And cheer with smiles the bed of death?And wilt thou o’er his breathless clayStrew flowers and drop the tender tear,Nor then regret those scenes so gay,Where thou wert fairest of the fair?â€
“And when at last thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o’er his breathless clay
Strew flowers and drop the tender tear,
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?â€
When the ballad was first published it is said to have been exceedingly popular, and greatly enhanced the reputation of its author. TheGentleman’s Magazinefor 1780 speaks of it as being “not undeservedly†regarded as “the most beautiful song in the English language.â€
Mrs. Percy was a native of Northamptonshire, and the daughter of Barton Gutteridge, Esq., of Desborough. Her union with Dr. Percy proved to be a very happy one, though clouded over on several occasions with grief and sorrow at the loss of some of their children, particularly at the death of their only son Henry, a promising young man of twenty years of age. The greatest affection existed between husband and wife, and continued to the end of their days. A very pleasing illustration of this fact is given in Pickford’s Life of Percy. The incident occurred in Ireland when Percy held the see of Dromore. On one occasion, when the bishop was from home, a violent storm came on in the evening, and was of such a character that the friends with whom he was staying earnestly entreated him to remain for the night, but the companionship of the “Nanny of his Muse†was a more powerful magnet than the pleading of kind friends or shelter from the tempest, so he ventured forth heedless of the howling winds and drenching rain. Subsequently he commemorated the event by writing the following lines, which were first published in 1867:—
“Deep howls the storm with chilling blast,Fast falls the snow and rain,Down rush the floods with headlong haste,And deluge all the plain.“Yet all in vain the tempests roar,And whirls the drifted snow;In vain the torrents scorn the shore,To Delia I must go.“In vain the shades of evening fall,And horrid dangers threat;What can the lover’s heart appal,Or check his eager feet?“The darksome vale the fearless tries,And winds its trackless wood,High o’er the cliff’s dread summit flies,And rushes through the flood.“Love bids achieve the hardy taskAnd act the wondrous part,He wings the feet with eagle speed,And lends the lion-heart.“Then led by thee, all-powerful boy,I’ll dare the hideous night,Thy dart shall guard me from annoy,Thy torch my footsteps light.“The cheerful blaze, the social hour,The friends—all plead in vain;Love calls—I brave each adverse powerOf peril and of pain.â€
“Deep howls the storm with chilling blast,Fast falls the snow and rain,Down rush the floods with headlong haste,And deluge all the plain.“Yet all in vain the tempests roar,And whirls the drifted snow;In vain the torrents scorn the shore,To Delia I must go.“In vain the shades of evening fall,And horrid dangers threat;What can the lover’s heart appal,Or check his eager feet?“The darksome vale the fearless tries,And winds its trackless wood,High o’er the cliff’s dread summit flies,And rushes through the flood.“Love bids achieve the hardy taskAnd act the wondrous part,He wings the feet with eagle speed,And lends the lion-heart.“Then led by thee, all-powerful boy,I’ll dare the hideous night,Thy dart shall guard me from annoy,Thy torch my footsteps light.“The cheerful blaze, the social hour,The friends—all plead in vain;Love calls—I brave each adverse powerOf peril and of pain.â€
“Deep howls the storm with chilling blast,Fast falls the snow and rain,Down rush the floods with headlong haste,And deluge all the plain.
“Deep howls the storm with chilling blast,
Fast falls the snow and rain,
Down rush the floods with headlong haste,
And deluge all the plain.
“Yet all in vain the tempests roar,And whirls the drifted snow;In vain the torrents scorn the shore,To Delia I must go.
“Yet all in vain the tempests roar,
And whirls the drifted snow;
In vain the torrents scorn the shore,
To Delia I must go.
“In vain the shades of evening fall,And horrid dangers threat;What can the lover’s heart appal,Or check his eager feet?
“In vain the shades of evening fall,
And horrid dangers threat;
What can the lover’s heart appal,
Or check his eager feet?
“The darksome vale the fearless tries,And winds its trackless wood,High o’er the cliff’s dread summit flies,And rushes through the flood.
“The darksome vale the fearless tries,
And winds its trackless wood,
High o’er the cliff’s dread summit flies,
And rushes through the flood.
“Love bids achieve the hardy taskAnd act the wondrous part,He wings the feet with eagle speed,And lends the lion-heart.
“Love bids achieve the hardy task
And act the wondrous part,
He wings the feet with eagle speed,
And lends the lion-heart.
“Then led by thee, all-powerful boy,I’ll dare the hideous night,Thy dart shall guard me from annoy,Thy torch my footsteps light.
“Then led by thee, all-powerful boy,
I’ll dare the hideous night,
Thy dart shall guard me from annoy,
Thy torch my footsteps light.
“The cheerful blaze, the social hour,The friends—all plead in vain;Love calls—I brave each adverse powerOf peril and of pain.â€
“The cheerful blaze, the social hour,
The friends—all plead in vain;
Love calls—I brave each adverse power
Of peril and of pain.â€
Mrs. Percy died on the 31st December, 1806. Her remains were interred within the Cathedral of Dromore. Several poems were published on her decease in theGentleman’s Magazineat that time. One of them, descriptive of the graces of this excellent lady, reads thus:—
“Within the precincts of this silent cellDistinguished Percy’s sacred relicks dwell;Whose youthful charms adorn’d the courtly scene,And won the favour of a British QueenWhose moral excellence, and virtues rare,Shone as conspicuous as her face was fair.By none throughout a long and happy lifeWas she surpassed as mother, friend, or wife.Alike from ostentation free, and pride,Humanity her motive, sense her guide.Her charity with constant current flowed,And its best gifts so usefully bestowed,That ere her spirit reached its native sphere,Her goodness marked her as an angel here.â€
“Within the precincts of this silent cellDistinguished Percy’s sacred relicks dwell;Whose youthful charms adorn’d the courtly scene,And won the favour of a British QueenWhose moral excellence, and virtues rare,Shone as conspicuous as her face was fair.By none throughout a long and happy lifeWas she surpassed as mother, friend, or wife.Alike from ostentation free, and pride,Humanity her motive, sense her guide.Her charity with constant current flowed,And its best gifts so usefully bestowed,That ere her spirit reached its native sphere,Her goodness marked her as an angel here.â€
“Within the precincts of this silent cellDistinguished Percy’s sacred relicks dwell;Whose youthful charms adorn’d the courtly scene,And won the favour of a British QueenWhose moral excellence, and virtues rare,Shone as conspicuous as her face was fair.By none throughout a long and happy lifeWas she surpassed as mother, friend, or wife.Alike from ostentation free, and pride,Humanity her motive, sense her guide.Her charity with constant current flowed,And its best gifts so usefully bestowed,That ere her spirit reached its native sphere,Her goodness marked her as an angel here.â€
“Within the precincts of this silent cell
Distinguished Percy’s sacred relicks dwell;
Whose youthful charms adorn’d the courtly scene,
And won the favour of a British Queen
Whose moral excellence, and virtues rare,
Shone as conspicuous as her face was fair.
By none throughout a long and happy life
Was she surpassed as mother, friend, or wife.
Alike from ostentation free, and pride,
Humanity her motive, sense her guide.
Her charity with constant current flowed,
And its best gifts so usefully bestowed,
That ere her spirit reached its native sphere,
Her goodness marked her as an angel here.â€
Dr. Percy lived on for five years longer, passing away on September 30th, 1811, revered and beloved for his piety, liberality, benevolence, and hospitality, by persons of every rank and religious denomination.
Leisure Hour.
A Doubtful Advantage.—A young working man was being shown the advantages of having a home of his own instead of knocking about in lodgings. “I don’t see,†said he, “the good of giving some woman half my victuals to get t’other half cooked.â€
Content.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;The quiet mind is richer than a crown.Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;The poor estate scorns fortune’s angry frown.Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,Beggars enjoy which princes often miss.—Greene.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;The quiet mind is richer than a crown.Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;The poor estate scorns fortune’s angry frown.Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,Beggars enjoy which princes often miss.—Greene.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;The quiet mind is richer than a crown.Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;The poor estate scorns fortune’s angry frown.Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,Beggars enjoy which princes often miss.—Greene.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown.
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns fortune’s angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy which princes often miss.
—Greene.
Woman’s Sphere.
They talk about a woman’s sphereAs though it had no limit.There’s not a place in earth or heaven,There’s not a task to mankind given,There’s not a blessing or a woe,There’s not a whispered yes or no,There’s not a life, or death, or birthThat has a feather’s weight of worth,Without a woman in it.
They talk about a woman’s sphereAs though it had no limit.There’s not a place in earth or heaven,There’s not a task to mankind given,There’s not a blessing or a woe,There’s not a whispered yes or no,There’s not a life, or death, or birthThat has a feather’s weight of worth,Without a woman in it.
They talk about a woman’s sphereAs though it had no limit.There’s not a place in earth or heaven,There’s not a task to mankind given,There’s not a blessing or a woe,There’s not a whispered yes or no,There’s not a life, or death, or birthThat has a feather’s weight of worth,Without a woman in it.
They talk about a woman’s sphere
As though it had no limit.
There’s not a place in earth or heaven,
There’s not a task to mankind given,
There’s not a blessing or a woe,
There’s not a whispered yes or no,
There’s not a life, or death, or birth
That has a feather’s weight of worth,
Without a woman in it.
A Miserable Young Woman.—To those who, without any real knowledge of music, make the air around them hideous by their everlasting strumming on a piano, the following passage in Carlyle’s life may prove instructive:—“The miserable young woman in the next house to me spends all her young bright days, not in learning to darn stockings, sew shirts, bake pastry, or any art, mystery, or business that will profit herself or others; not even in amusing herself or skipping on the grass plots with laughter of her mates; but simply and solely in raging from dawn to dark, to night and midnight, on a hapless piano, which, it is evident, she will never in this world render more musical than a pair of barn clappers! The miserable young female!â€
A Sweeping Argument.—“That is a sweeping argument,†remarked the husband, whose wife used a broom to convince him that he ought to have been home several hours previously.
The Great Art of Life.—It is the great art and philosophy of life to make the best of the present, whether it be good or bad; to bear the bad with resignation and patience, and to enjoy the good with thankfulness and moderation.
Beautiful Hands.—A white hand is a very desirable ornament, and a hand can never be white unless it be kept clean; nor is this all, for if a young lady excels her companions in this respect, she must keep her hands in constant motion, which will cause the blood to circulate freely and have a wonderful effect. The motion recommended is working at her needle, brightening her house and making herself as useful as possible in the performance of all domestic duties.—Mrs. Jamieson.